


Death of a Friend

by thesleepylunatic



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesleepylunatic/pseuds/thesleepylunatic
Summary: Standard History, Chapter 3.A node in which heated conflict between two friends takes a dark and unexpected turn. Betrayal, lust, and grief all come into play in this corruption of the true history.





	Death of a Friend

 

"How could you?!"

"...Rosch?"

"How could you abandon your mission and betray Alistel?!"

The two warriors stand at opposite ends of the mountain cave clearing, tension coursing through their frames. Stocke stares in slight bewilderment at his friend's rage. He had anticipated pushback, but not this. Not this desperate accusation of treason.

"Stand aside, Stocke. I didn't want to believe Heiss, but now I've seen it with my own two eyes. I have no choice but to fulfill the mission for you."

"Rosch, you don't understand. We don't need to be at war right now! Eruca must live if we want to save the wor--"

Stocke's words are cut short by Rosch's scathing retort.

"Save the world? Tell me you're joking, Stocke. I never thought of you as one to get carried away in fanciful idealism. You've aborted the mission and now you're traveling with the very target of your assassination orders. What am I supposed to think?"

"I assure you, if you allow me to explain--"

"No."

Rosch draws a deep breath, searching Stocke's face as he continues.

"If you can't do it, Stocke, I'll kill her for you and we'll go home together. We'll work to defend our country as a team...just like old times, right?"

The heavily armored man speaks gruffly, but there's a hint of vulnerability in his tone as he steps closer to his friend.  
Stocke holds his ground, maintaining his position between his sleeping companions' tent and the looming figure before him.

"I can't let you through, Rosch. Just...do me this favor, please. Let us go, just this once."

The captain growls in frustration and surges forward, chest plate now mere inches from Stocke's face.

"That's not an option! I can't...they...they have Sonja. I can't turn back now. What does this enemy princess matter?! If you won't step aside..."

Rosch's hand drifts toward the lance at his side as he spits out his threat with heaving breaths. Stocke struggles to remain impassive, but his distress gathers in his wrinkled brow as he addresses the other man. In the same moment, he begins to slide his sword from its sheath.

"I don't want to fight you! You're...you're my best friend."

From the red armor emanates a despairing laugh.

"And I don't want to fight you...I've only ever imagined you at my side. But the enemy of my country is an enemy of mine...My decision has already been made. Arghhhhhhhhh!!!!"

With a resounding battle cry, Rosch launches forward. He swings down his raised weapon with all the force granted by his formidable Gauntlet, but Stocke is already darting to the right and ducking beneath the attack. The smaller man crouches for a moment, only to push upward with a a piercing jab aimed at his opponent's side. Despite Rosch's great size, however, he is quick to leap back and out of harm's way.

The two men exchange blows back and forth across the clearing for several minutes, silent but for the occasional grunts of effort. They appear evenly matched. Sweat streams down Stocke's forehead as he concentrates on feeling out weak points, determined to end the conflict quickly.  
Suddenly, he feels his left foot sliding backward at an alarming rate. Belatedly, Stocke realizes how close they've drifted to the edge of the lake--and to the muddy ground lining its shore. He has no chance to correct his mistake. Rosch immediately capitalizes on his opponent's shaky footing and stabs forward.

He draws first blood.

"Aghhh!"

Stocke gasps in a mix of both pain and surprise. Red blooms from a large gash in his right side, and he stumbles slightly before steadying his footing and staring up warily at his friend. The larger man's eyes are wide, as though the reality of their situation is only just sinking in. Rosch is quick to recover, however, and he jumps to press his momentary advantage. The captain hurtles forward with his Gauntlet drawn into an enormous fist--and Stocke is too slow to escape. He twists away reflexively, but Rosch slams into him and they both crash to the ground.

Once Stocke blinks away the blurriness of his vision, he finds himself face down in the dirt. Trying to raise his body, he finds himself utterly pinned beneath Rosch's broad form. For a brief moment, all he can hear is their mingled heavy breathing. The heaving chest of the man above him presses closely against his upper torso, and Stocke feels lightheaded.

Abruptly, he feels a hot breath against his left ear and a piercing pain as Rosch uses his human hand to yank Stocke's head back by his hair.

"Why?! Why, Stocke?!"

The grief in Rosch's voice is as paralyzing as the hold he has on his opponent.

"I thought you refused to join my brigade for some higher purpose, to fight in defense of Alistel. I thought...I thought, when this was all over, that we could go back. That our goals were the same. Didn't...didn't you even think to consider my feelings before you walked away from everything?!"

Stocke feels his heart clench as he considers his captor's words. He is frozen, unsure how to respond.

".............."

Unfortunately, his silence infuriates the man above him. Rosch pulls harder on Stocke's hair, causing him to grimace and cry out involuntarily. In retaliation, Stocke attempts to swing his sword arm up and toward the other man's face, but it ends in failure. His arm is swiftly grasped by the claws of the Gauntlet, which dig in and pierce the skin. His weapon goes flying.

"Ahhh!"

The smaller blond writhes beneath the larger, squirming and struggling to pull away. He freezes, however, when he hears a low groan right against his ear.

"Stocke...you never cared, did you? Not the way I did. Some tramp wags her tail at you and you throw everything aside without a second thought."

Rosch's voice is low and broken. Stocke has never heard such a tone from his friend in all their years of comraderie, and it sends a chill down his spine. Before he can react further, he feels teeth clamping down on his left ear. Jerking in surprise, he arches slightly and is met with an unexpected hardness against his rear.

"...What? Rosch, why--"

"...I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"

A hoarse whisper makes him shudder as it's followed by a long, slow stroke of a hot tongue against his neck.

"It doesn't matter what I do to you...not anymore."

Alarm tightens in Stocke's chest at his friend's words. What could he mean? He has no time to ponder, though, as the Gauntlet wraps itself around his throat. One claw rests its razer edge gently across his jugular. He swallows.

"Don't...move."

Stocke closes his eyes and grits his teeth, preparing for the end at his best friend's hands.

Instead, he feels Rosch's flesh hand slide beneath his cloak and under his shirt. It's warm and calloused, and he can feel the rough fingertips caress the ridges of his abdomen.

"!!!"

"Hush, Stocke. Stay still."

What was happening? This wasn't at all what he had steeled himself for. Was the other man trying to widen the wound in his side? He flinches as the hand drifts upward and the fingers slide across his chest. Stocke's heart is pounding just as rapidly as it had during their battle. Rosch pinches his fingers together to fondle a peaked nipple.

"Ahh!"

The captain chuckles hollowly.

"See...I've always thought about this. About what you'd sound like."

He sighs deeply.

"I didn't think...I would have to find out like this."

Stocke doesn't understand, doesn't want to understand, but he decides to reason with his friend.

"I don't know what you're saying, Rosch, but I'm sure we can still come to an agreement. Let me up and we can--"

The Gauntlet tightens bruisingly around his neck and he chokes on the end of his sentence. Rosch swears and yanks Stocke's body closer.

"You know exactly what I'm saying! You're an SI man, aren't you? Heiss's little pet, always remarkably quick on the uptake."

The pure venom in his voice reverberates between Stocke's ears and settles as a lump in his throat. He can no longer speak.  
Rosch continues his slow exploration, attending to Stocke's chest until the smaller man shifts uncomfortably. His face is flushed and his lips are pressed firmly shut. Dissatisfied with the lack of response, the Young Lion grasps Stocke's hip and raises him to his knees. Held hostage by the threat of the Gauntlet, Stocke remains rigidly on all fours. His eyes are fixed determinedly off into the distance.

The hand at the front of his trousers forces him out of impassivity. He panics slightly, pulling away and turning his face back toward Rosch in distress. The everpresent Gauntlet pushes his face forward again, but Rosch leans closer and murmers in an attempt at comfort.

"Shhh...There's no escaping this, so just let yourself relax."

Stocke grunts, trying to remain unaffected and aloof. But Rosch's fingers deftly undo the buttons protecting him and wrap eagerly around him, and he is shocked by the uninvited sensation.

"Nnn...don't!"

He feels agonizingly exposed in a way that he's never experienced in any battle. It fills him with unease. His captor pays no heed, however, and begins to rub up and down his shaft. Stocke clenches his teeth, but can't prevent the natural reactions of his own body. To his eternal shame, he begins to harden. Rosch grins triumphantly above him. The captain's broad shoulders shake slightly as he laughs.

"I knew it! You're not as indifferent as you pretend to be."

Indignation and humiliation prompt Stocke to fight back. Taking advantage of Rosch's distraction, he slams the back of his head into Rosch's chin and swipes his right leg underneath the other's calf in an attempt to knock him off balance.

It's a grave miscalculation.

Rosch is not as distracted as he seems, and he immediately slams Stocke's face into the ground. Spitting blood and growling, the larger man responds by tearing his hostage's trousers off entirely. Wedging his knees between Stocke's legs, he leans over him menacingly and rubs his prominent length against him through the thin cloth of Rosch's own pants.

"I told you to be still! If you try anything like that again, I'll drive into you without hesitation--and only your own blood will ease the passage of my member."

Stocke can't help but shudder. He has never been this cornered, and he never imagined it could happen while at the mercy of his best friend. Blood trickles from his nose. Drip. Drip. Suddenly two thick fingers are pushing their way into his mouth.

"Suck. If you dare bite me, I will ensure you regret it."

Seeing no option but to obey, the smaller blond reluctantly coats the digits with saliva--hating the metallic taste of his own blood as it slips into the corner of his mouth.

When Rosch is satisfied, the larger man withdraws his fingers and reaches between Stocke's legs. He circles the other man's entrance slowly before sliding in a single finger.

"Aaaahhh!"

Stocke jolts forward in shock but is held firmly in place. His legs tremble despite his best intentions. He could not have prepared himself for the foreign sensation of something entering his most private of areas. Wishing desperately for a reprieve, he can hardly bear the moment the finger pushes deeper. Rosch probes gently, stretching Stocke slowly as Stocke breathes in and tries to remain silent. Rosch's musky scent, normally familiar and comforting, serves only to tear at the smaller man's senses.

Just as he begins to adjust, a second finger enters him relentlessly. When it scissors apart from the first, he cracks.

"Rosch...please..."

Stocke can't even get the words out.

"It's too late for that, Stocke. Just bear it."

Just bear it? The command is nearly incomprehensible. His breathing quickens in response to his anxiety.  
Sensing the smaller blond's distress, Rosch removes his fingers for a moment and returns his attention to Stocke's shaft.

"Ah..ah..ah..."

The sharp contrast between the two sensations overwhelms Stocke's senses and he gasps incoherently. As Rosch works him up and down, he can feel a familar throbbing build up within him.

"No, don't make me...!"

The humiliation overtakes him and he shakes his head despairingly. Rosch looks on with a conflicted expression.

"You do realize that pleasuring you is kind of the point?"

Stocke can do nothing but to toss his head from side to side, in utter refusal. His friend takes pity on him. He feels the fingers at his entrance once again and feels a twisted relief in knowing that the upcoming pain will be easier to cope with than any pleasure he could receive.  
But his relief is shortlived. Rosch introduces not two but three fingers this time, and the stretch and intrusion are painfully intimate.

Suddenly, the captain quirks his fingers and rubs them against Stocke's inner wall.

"Ah...? Oh, oh god..."

A blast of pleasure bursts white across Stocke's eyes and he is overcome. His shaft hardens further and glistens at the tip. What on earth was that sensation? No, no, why? Why, when he has been so shamed?

"There's the spot. You make such lovely sounds for me, don't you? I'll teach you that no woman could ever satisfy your desires."

Rosch pulls back for a moment to undo the front of his own trousers. Stocke hears the rustling movements and begins to tense. He is a soldier, isn't he? He's trained to withstand torture of all forms.

And yet...this betrayal comes from his dearest friend.

The soft touch at the small of his back breaks his stoic heart. Stocke doesn't want kindness, doesn't want to be reminded who sits behind him preparing to enter.

"....nghhh!"

Rosch slides into him slowly, inch by excruciating inch. A guiding hand at his hip keeps him steady on all fours inspite of how violently he shakes. Stocke tries not to choke.

"...Are you all right?"

The gentle whisper comes from just above him.

"...Hurts..."

Stocke isn't sure if he means his heart most of all.

Rosch is still for a few moments, allowing the smaller man to adjust to his thickness.

"Stocke...god, you're so tight. Breathe now, breathe."

The tender caress at his hip is more than he can bear, and he lets out a muffled sob. It's the height of his shame as a proud soldier. Rosch seems alarmed and hurries to touch and to comfort, finally releasing the Gauntlet's harsh grip on Stocke's neck. With his warm human hand, he tilts Stocke's head back from above and kisses him passionately. In the process, Rosch's hips rock forward gently against the spot where the two are joined together. Stocke gasps into the kiss, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of movement within him and by the taste of the other man.

"Rosch, stop, I beg of you..."

"Shhh...it's all right. I'm sorry. I'll take care of you."

Rosch begins to cautiously move in and out, seemingly trying to restrain himself. But every thrust draws a stream of reluctant cries and gasps from Stocke, who can no longer stay silent in the face of this unsettling mixture of pleasure and pain, and Rosch's member swells in arousal with every sound. The Young Lion begins to snap his hips forward with greater force. As if to apologise for the increased pace, he again grasps Stocke's shaft as he continues to move.

"...ngh..ahhh..."

Suddenly, Rosch changes his angle and Stocke feels sparks of pleasure as he is stimulated again in that strange spot. Combined with the attention being given to his cock, he feels that sensation building once more against his will. He hates it, hates that he has lost control of everything--betrayed even by his own body.  
Mustering the last bit of force remaining in his trembling limbs, he throws himself forward and claws at the grass in an attempt to escape the dizzying emotions.

"Don't you run away from me! I thought we were done with this!"

Stocke is dragged back in an instant and Rosch sets a punishing pace, thrusting violently.

"Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!"

Stocke is stretched and burning, but the relentless pleasure continues to build. Rosch raises one of Stocke's legs off the ground, driving deeper and deeper into the smaller man, reaching places he hardly thought possible. Stocke's knuckles are white as they clench around Rosch's Gauntlet--the only purchase he is allowed through the onslaught.

Finally, Stocke is pushed over the brink. He cries out when pleasure overtakes him, shuddering as white spurts stream from him. His inner walls tighten around Rosch, causing Rosch to groan in appreciation.

"Look at you...clenching around me like you were born to take me in. Beautiful."

The Young Lion's stamina allows him to continue to thrust all through Stocke's aftershocks, leaving the smaller blond gasping and shaking in overstimulation.

"No more...Rosch...I can't..."

"You have no idea the heights of pleasure I can bring you to, Stocke. I've waited years for this. I've seen your body in combat--you're not done yet."

In one fluid motion, Rosch flips Stocke onto his back, pinning both wrists above his head with one Gauntleted hand. Continuing to pump in and out of the other man, the captain grins down at the condition of his captive. Tears prick at the corners of Stocke's eyes, his cheeks are flaming red, and hoarse cries slip past his lips. Blood from his side and slick sweat mix with his own semen laid across his belly. He is utterly debauched.

"To see you in such a state...you are everything I imagined and more. If your princess saw you now..."

Stocke looks away, ashamed. He vows never again to allow himself to be this weak. Even in his determination, he finds himself growing hard again and responding to his friend's touch.

"Ah...nghh...ah!!"

The feeling of Rosch's cock sliding back and forth inside him sends uncontrollable shivers down his spine. The larger man leans in and peppers kisses along his throat, pausing to suck at his pulse point. The pleasure is building again.

"Rosch! I...! No, stop!"

Rosch suddenly reaches a hand down and forms a ring at the base of Stocke's shaft, keeping him from finding release. Stocke arches his back involuntarily, tightening around the captain's member.

"God...I've never had close to you, my dear Stocke..."

Stocke manages to glare up at him, defiant to the end. The effect is ruined, however, by the desperate pumping of his hips as his body bounces up and down on Rosch's thick length.

"Let us come together. As it was meant to be...if the world itself were as it should be."

Rosch buries his golden head in the crook of Stocke's shoulder and bites down, thrusting especially deep at the same moment that he releases the base of Stocke's aching cock.

"Arghhh!!...oh god...Rosch, no..."

Stocke's world whites as he orgasms, and he clenches around Rosch as wave after wave of unwanted pleasure course through him.

"Nnghhh...Stocke..."

Heat fills Stocke from within as Rosch comes inside him. Darkness collects at the edges of his vision as he collapses limply, shocked by the viscous fluid now leaking from him. Dimly, he feels throbbing. His shoulder, his side, between his legs. Stocke shivers when Rosch pulls out, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to look up at his former friend. A broad hand grasps his chin, however, and tilts his head back toward the captain.

"Look at me. Please...face me, Stocke."

Stocke's wrists are released from the Gauntlet's hold and he instinctively places them against Rosch's chest--pushing him weakly away. The larger man's face twists in regret.

"Stocke, I..."

"Leave me! What more would you do to me...?!"

"................."

The Young Lion rises slowly, redoing his armor as he does. He stares down at the half-naked form beneath him with furrowed brows. Rosch removes his cloak and lays it over Stocke's prone form. He then turns slowly to face the sleeping tent in the corner of the mountain clearing.

"No!! Leave them be!"

Stocke desperately attempts to raise himself, shaking and alarmed. All he can manage is to reach out and wrap his hands around Rosch's calf. What laughable futility, he thinks.

Rather than knocking him away, however, the captain stands still as a statue, indecision written across his features.

"Perhaps...perhaps I shall grant you your favor."

Hope blooms in Stocke's chest, but the other man's next words fill him with dread.

"This is not...how I wanted it, Stocke. Nevertheless, I have claimed you. You will always remember this day as the day I made you mine. Do you understand? Tell me who you belong to."

"I will never...!"

"Say it now, or watch helplessly as I slaughter every one of your companions in fulfillment of my mission!"

Rosch's voice is harsh and deep, but his eyes are narrowed in pain. Stocke's cheeks burn at the humiliating request and at his own worthlessness. He bows his head and tries not to choke on his own words.

"You..."

Rosch squats down and caresses Stocke's cheek with a large, rough hand.

"...Yes? Go on."

"...I belong to you."

He flicks his gaze up to Rosch for a moment, but he sees no triumph in the captain's eyes. Only melancholy. Stocke flinches as the larger man moves closer, but all he feels are the man's lips pressed gently against his forehead.

"That's right. Goodbye...Stocke."

In an instant, Rosch is vertical again and slipping backward into the cover of night. Stocke lies frozen on the ground--his world has been irrevocably twisted.

He has to change this history.


End file.
